


This Is It

by Liena67



Series: An Alternative Way [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adlock, F/M, First Time, Love, Passion, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 13:45:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14426658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liena67/pseuds/Liena67
Summary: This is a oneshot that follows a narrative thread other than Black Heart.This different series will be a series of oneshots only.It can be read without having read the previous ones even if I suggest to do it for those who have not read them yet.Positioned after the final of the fourth season.





	This Is It

It’s a strange moment of peace. Peace in Sherlock's apartment at 221B Baker Street, peace downstairs where Mrs. Hudson lives, peace in his mailbox, peace on the street, peace in the world. This is the saddest and most boring period Sherlock remembers from time immemorial. But what happened to criminals, serial killers, the disappearances of people and objects, at this time Sherlock would be satisfied with a cat that disappeared to fight the boredom of the last days and thus to resist the temptation to smoke or make something worse. Nothing, nothing deeper. Even his phone is silent, no calls, no text messages. Sherlock, still in his pajamas from the morning since he got up, observes the phone sighing. This total silence is almost driving him crazy.

"Are you hoping it will start ringing with the power of thought?" John asks him as soon as he enters the living room.  
"I have finished the bullets" is the laconic response of Sherlock who puts the phone on the bedside table, then falling into his chair with a clear bored expression.  
"You have not finished them... I have them. You were driving Mrs. Hudson crazy by shooting at the wall in the middle of the night... and if you go on like this, there will not be a wall to shoot at all," the friend tells him, going to sit in his chair.  
"Here it’s becoming a prison... no cases... no cigarettes... no cocaine... now I can’t even shoot at the wall... maybe I should reach Eurus in Sherrinford... she would understand me now" Sherlock replies, snorting.  
"Sherlock, you've been fasting cases for just a week... it does not seem like a serious thing," John tells him, shaking his head.  
"A week is eternity for me" exclaims Sherlock, taking the phone again to check it.

"Why don’t you try calling her instead of checking the phone all the time?" John asks him in an almost indifferent tone.  
"Call who?" Sherlock asks, putting the phone back on the nightstand.  
"I know you think I’m stupid... but I'm not. I saw you, when you send that message months ago... did she answer you?" John asks again, looking at his friend now with a look between the ironic and the serious.  
"I don’t think you're stupid" Sherlock replies and after a few moments a sigh escapes him "no... she did not answer... she has not sent any messages since then" he adds tapping a hand on the arm of the chair.  
"And who knows why... with that sentence any woman would have catapulted to 221B... weirdly did not answer you" John tells him with a tone now more than sarcastic.  
"She is not a woman like any other"  
"This is the first right thing I hear you say since I came in... call her Sherlock," John tells him.  
"I don’t even think about it... it would also be useless. When and if she wants to hear me or see me, I'm sure she will," Sherlock replies, unable to hold back a short sigh.

John is about to add something but is interrupted by the ringing of Sherlock's phone. They both look at it as if it were a foreign or alien object and neither one of them says a word or makes a movement. In the end, after many rings, Sherlock picks up the phone and, after looking at the display, he answers. John looks at him and suddenly sees him jump up from the chair with an energy that until recently he seemed to have completely lost. Sherlock finishes the call and looks at him smiling.

"Finally someone committed a crime" he exclaims moving towards his bedroom "I'm going to change my clothes, John... we have a case" he shouts from the room before closing the door and getting ready to start a new game.  
  
"You see Mr. Holmes... this painting was of immense value but not only economic... especially emotional" the young woman sitting on the sofa looks at Sherlock who moves around the living room checking every inch around the empty space left by the stolen painting.  
"The affective value is the one that interests me less at this moment" he replies, moving towards the windows of the room to check the type of closure.  
"Yes, well, he wanted to say that probably the reason for the theft is related to the economic value of the painting" John adds, sitting in front of the young woman.  
"Of course... yes... I understand. However, the value is reported on this sheet, released by the gallery that has estimated it... it is not a high amount but what I don’t understand is how they did and why they took only that painting" the woman responds by handing the certificate to John, who takes it stuffing just the eyes when he reads the value in sterling of the work.  
"Well... it's not even a small amount though... maybe they thought it was enough that painting and they did not want to risk taking away anything else" he suggests turning then to Sherlock, who came back next to him.  
"No... they took away only that painting because someone told them to do it" Sherlock tells him, taking the certificate to read it.  
"A commission theft?" John asks.  
"More or less... just that it was not a robbery," Sherlock replies, dropping the certificate on the table in front of the sofa where the young woman now looks at him with a puzzled look.  
"What does it means, Mr. Holmes?" She asks him, narrowing her eyes.  
"I mean nobody stole anything... you have been lying since we came in," Sherlock tells her, looking at her with his hands crossed behind his back.

"You are a good actress, you must have studied acting for a long time because I recognize it by perfect diction and posture. You have not made a career, I do not see any photos or awards or articles of reviews, but you are well-off. The painting was taken with extreme care and placed inside a wooden packaging to protect it. Light traces of the wood have remained on the floor and it’s impossible for thieves to have lost all this time for a theft. Among other things, they would not have gone unnoticed. I think the painting has not even left the house, perhaps it is well hidden in some secret room inside this house" he quickly and confidently explains to the woman, who remains silent without even trying to answer.  
"But... and why would she do it then? And why call us?" John asks with a perplexed and surprised look.  
"Probably our client wanted to get money from insurance and be sure theft was declared after our intervention," Sherlock replies, turning now to go to the door.  
"You are a really perspicacious man Mr. Holmes... someone warned me, but I did not believe up to this point" the woman tells him without getting up from the couch.  
"You should listen to your informants... it's not that simple to deceive me," Sherlock replies, before leaving the living room followed by a still confused John.  
"So... did she confess that she stole her painting? But it does not seem smart... it's a crime" John tells him once in the street.  
"Instead she is a smart woman. She did not make any complaint, she just called me. If she could have made me believe that a robbery had taken place, she would have made a formal complaint. I was his test. I'm not a policeman so she did not commit any crime trying to make me believe that the painting was stolen" Sherlock replies with a smile before stopping a taxi on which he then climbs.  
"You find it funny, do you?" John asks when the taxi leaves.  
"Her strategy was well studied even if she failed. Yes... I find it funny... too bad the game has not lasted" Sherlock answers with a smile and then returns to look in the street.

 

It is now evening when, arrived in front of 221B, the taxi stops and both of them leave the car.

Sherlock opens the front door and puts his coat on the hook in the hallway.  
"But what is this good smell? I think I will invite myself to Mrs. Hudson... she must have prepared something really good" John says after closing the door and put his jacket near his friend's coat.

At that moment, Sherlock's phone emits a sound, that sound, that particular hint of female lamentation that has not been heard for some time. He closes his eyes for a moment and sighing, he takes the phone from his jacket pocket, exchanging a glance with John for a moment. He reads the message and arches an eyebrow with a surprised expression.  
  
**The Woman:** white or red?  
  
"So... what does she say?" John asks, looking at his friend's puzzled expression.

Sherlock puts the phone back in the pocket of his jacket and his gaze moves to the top floor.  
"I think this smell comes from my kitchen John and not from Mrs. Hudson's," he says to him after coming back to look at him.  
"Oh, I see. And I think then, it's the case that I go" John replies with an amused smile while he takes his jacket. At that moment, his own phone emits a sound warning the arrival of a message and John takes it to read it.

**Unknown number:** to good return, John...  
  
John raises an eyebrow and with a surprised expression shows the phone to Sherlock to let him read the message.  
"But since when does she knows my new number?" He asks, then putting the phone in his jacket.  
"You probably gave it to Alice... your Facebook friend," Sherlock replies with a slight smile.  
"Yes, I gave it to her, but what does this mean? Oh wait... no... please tell me that Alice is not her" John exclaims, raising his eyes to the sky "but for God sake... I've been talking with her for so long" he says with an almost altered tone "let me go, otherwise it ends badly... you are just the same, you two" he adds with a tone between the resigned and disconsolate, opening the door to go out.  
Sherlock stays in the lobby for a few moments after the front door closes and at last with a long sigh he climbs the stairs to his apartment. In these months he imagined to meet her again, he knew that sooner or later it would happen, or perhaps above all, he hoped it. After sending her that message, it was as if he had been emptied of all thoughts. He no longer has doubts about what he feels, about what he wants, but this does not prevent him from having his heart running fast and his breath slightly broken, and certainly not for the few steps of the house. Slowly he enters the living room and the scent of food greets him, but what floods his nostrils now is her perfume, that particular scent that mixed with the smell of her skin creates an unmistakable flagrance for him. The living room is empty, then he looks out at the kitchen door and she is there. She is giving him her back now and he watches her take glasses from the cupboard. Her hair is tied but not in the austere hairstyle of the first times she saw it. She wears black elegant trousers and a white blouse, that wrap around his body, highlighting the perfect shapes. Sherlock almost holds his breath, because seeing her now is causing him a series of unexpected reactions and emotions. It is so difficult for him to let go totally to what he feels, and Irene always seems to be able to unleash wishes in him that the mind struggles to understand and above all to stop.

"I decided for the red" he hears her saying when she is still giving him her back "Angelo's baked pasta I think deserves a full-bodied and robust wine" Irene adds, turning now to him. For a few moments neither of them speaks and they stand still, simply looking at each other. The deep blue eyes, like the sea, of Irene, are reflected in the clear ones of him, that fade into the green.  
"Did you bring Angelo's baked pasta?" Sherlock asks in the end, taking a few steps closer to the already laid table.  
"Did you think I would have started to cook?" Irene asks with an ironic smile posing the glasses on the table "if it's your fantasy, I warn you that I'm not inclined to support it" she adds then with her captivating smile, that always seems to mean something else.  
"No... definitely not the kind of fantasy I cultivate" Sherlock replies, looking at her open the bottle of wine and pour the liquid into the two glasses.  
"So, have you some fantasies, Sherlock? Are they about me?" She asks, holding out his glass.  
Sherlock does not answer but does not take his eyes off hers. In silence they both raise the glass like a mute toast and sip the wine.  
"Sit down Sherlock," she finally tells him, placing her glass on the table and, saying nothing, she turns to get closer to the oven from which she takes the baking pan she had kept warm. She brings the pan to the table and after cutting two portions fills the dishes.

Sherlock looks at the plate of steaming pasta and then to her, now sitting in front of him.

"I'm not one who eats a lot in general" he almost whispers, not to disturb this particular and warm atmosphere that is being created.  
"I know... but now you'll eat... you'll need it..." she tells him with her particular smile and Sherlock can’t help but smile too.

He takes a fork and silently savors what is his favorite dish. It must be for this reason that she decided to provide herself to Angelo, who knows very well what his tastes are in terms of food.  
Time passes, the hours flow without either one noticing. There is no background music but the warm voice of Sherlock who tells the details of his last cases is like a relaxing melody for Irene, whose curiosity stimulates him to continue.  
"But you had a case today, right? Why don’t you tell me?" Irene asks, when now their two dishes are empty for a while and the bottle of wine empty more than half.  
"It was not a case... it was a diversion," Sherlock replies, placing the glass on the table.  
"Really? Explain better" Irene still asks without being able to take her eyes off those of him.  
"You know what I'm talking about... you organized it to get me away from here and prepare this... surprise dinner," Sherlock tells her confidently.  
"And how did you understand?" Irene asks again, placing her glass on the table.  
"Because it was a good game... and I had fun" he replies smiling at her.

Irene looks at him for a few moments, just biting her lip. His perspicacity and his intelligence were for her one of the main reasons of attraction to this man, which led her to completely change the path that until before his meeting she believed well. But never in her life had so much fun in a battle, because their game is like a war, a race in which both compete and both try a strange and intimate pleasure, regardless of who wins or loses. She could have decided to disappear completely after that message of him, and it would have been a vicious victory. But after a long period of silence and real distance, Irene made her decision and now knows that her life could totally change.  
"But you understood it almost immediately... obviously," she almost says in a whisper.  
"The time it takes to allow you to sneak into my house anyway," he says, pointing to the table with one hand "I hope you've been careful with the cameras... you know Mycroft does not lose the habit of controlling me" then he adds, without unhooking his gaze from hers.  
"Your brother is obsessed with the desire for control more than I am" Irene replies with a slight laugh "however I was careful... even if I did not need it... I made a deal with your brother" she adds finally resting the back to the back of the chair and crossing her legs.  
"A deal? What kind of deal?" Sherlock asks almost alarmed "did you let him know that you're alive?" The questions follow one another in a crescendo.  
"Well... it's true that it's like he made a deal with the devil... but to do that I had to let him know that I was alive" Irene starts answering with an ironic tone "I wanted to see his face... he had to be a lot of fun at that moment, amazement and anger," she adds with a slight laugh.

"Yes... I guess... you still have not told me what kind of deal you have made with him" Sherlock tells her in a voice almost hard, because the thought that she has blown up her cover with his brother, after his commitment in recent years to keep the truth hidden from him, it irritates him somewhat.  
"You have a strange relationship with your brother" Irene tells him initially, continuing to watch him for a few moments before continuing "okay... then, you have to know that in Tel Aviv I created a certain amount of knowledge and I happened to come in contact with a person in possession of information, that I thought could be very useful to your brother... and you know that I always know how to get someone the information I need" she adds with his captivating and mischievous smile.  
"So you sold him information?" Sherlock asks, raising an eyebrow.  
"Not really... I did not ask for money," Irene tells him, now resting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands intertwined "I asked for time... time to move freely in London" she adds in a slight whisper.  
"How long?" He asked after a few moments when it seemed to him that the only noise in the room was his heart beating hard.  
"Three weeks" she replies without stopping to look at him.  
"They had to be very important information for my brother" he says with a slight smile.  
"For him and for the government, in fact, mine was a very patriotic gesture...”, Irene says with an ironic smile.

Sherlock does not answer, he keeps looking at her for a long time, observing every nuance of her gaze, the reflections of light on her hair and the glow of her skin, the red of her lips and that particular smile that always provokes an incomprehensible shiver in him. After a few minutes he sighs and rises slowly, looks at her again for a few moments, then moves away from the table and the kitchen and disappears into the corridor.  
Irene watches him disappear without saying a word and looks up at the sky for a moment, before getting up and overlooking in the corridor.

Sherlock is in his bedroom and without saying anything he is taking off his jacket that he puts in the closet. Irene, crossing her arms over her breasts, continues to watch him in silence.

Sherlock begins to unbutton the cuffs of his shirt and at that moment he looks up at her.  
"Then? What are you doing standing there? Did not anyone tell you that in a relationship there are things that are done together?" He says from the bedroom keeping the same serious tone as before "yet you should have some experience... more than mine certainly" he adds starting to unbutton the shirt.  
Irene arches an eyebrow at his words and then just opens her eyes.  
"William Sherlock Scott Holmes" she begins to say walking with a firm step towards the bedroom "you are the most arrogant, tremendous and presumptuous man I know", she ends up saying when he is just a few steps away from him.  
"And with this? Does it bother you? You knew it from the beginning that I am so," he says, stopping his hands on the third button of his shirt.  
"Not at all" she answers closing the bedroom door behind her "I find it terribly exciting to tell the truth," she adds in a whisper approaching and then replacing her hands to continue unbuttoning his shirt.

Sherlock moves his hands and smiling begins to unbutton her shirt.  
"And you instead are the most stubborn woman... impertinent... authoritarian... sometimes criminal… I've ever known" he says with his voice low and deep looking into her eyes. When his hands open the last button, he pulls away the flaps of her shirt and looks down, while at the same time Irene does the same with him, pulling out his shirt from his pants. The looks of both now are on the body of the other, lips parted, the heaviest breaths. Sherlock's hands rest on her hips and draws her towards him, he looks up for a moment on her face and looks at her with a slight smile "and all this of you... I find it terribly sexy" he adds finally with a whisper, before bending over to kiss her.  
Irene feels those lips again on hers and as had happened that strange night in the rain, she can’t hold back a moan that is lost in his mouth. She puts her hands on his shoulders under his shirt, savoring the sensation of his skin. With sure movements, she pulls his shirt from his shoulders and along his arms until it falls on the floor while she feels now pushing towards the bed.  
Sherlock savored those soft lips and his scent is now driving him crazy but it is the suffocated moan of her that clouds the mind completely, causing him a series of chills all over his body. His heart beats so fast that he is almost astonished that she cannot hear it, but it is the sensations that this woman manages to provoke in him that surprise him more than anything. No drug manages to be as powerful for him as Irene is, and perhaps for this reason he tried to stay away from her as much as possible in these years, because she is a drug that he fears then not being able to do without. He lets his shirt take off as the kiss grows deeper and his hands move to her shoulders to take her off, pushing her against the bed, and unhooking her bra that drops to the floor. He almost cannot seem to breathe when he pushes her on the bed until it is stretched and his lips are now detached from her, starting to go down her neck, between the breasts, on the turgid nipples that grabs between the lips with voracious, feeling Irene's body arching and another stronger moan striking him almost deep. Without abandoning her breasts with his hands he opens the button and the zip of her pants and hears Irene do the same with his. His lips return to rise and he kisses her again with passion, stopping then to look at her when one hand comes down, slipping under clothing to feel the heat and the humors under his fingers.

At the same moment, Irene comes down with her hand, tracing a line with a fingernail until she meets his erection, which causes her to shudder all over her body.

When Sherlock feels Irene's hand squeezing it into a gentle, firm grip, a deep groan escapes, making his eyes narrow and he feels he can no longer resist. He wants her, wants her as he has never wanted any before he meets her, he wants her with all his soul and body. He kisses her with passion, entering her with two fingers and her moans, the movements of her body to go towards him, make him mad. He detaches from her, lifts up and grabs the edges of her trousers and panties, letting them go down her legs, until they are completely removed in one movement together with her shoes. In a few moments he undresses completely and then returns to lie down on her, who welcomes him between her legs, grasping him with her hands by the nape. The feeling of their naked bodies, of the skin against the skin, makes both of them lose their head. Sherlock stands still for a moment without gasping, his lips brushing against hers, his eyes misted in hers.

"Now Sherlock" Irene tells him in a hoarse whisper and at those words Sherlock sinks in her in one motion, hiding his face in her neck and moaning with her.

Irene holds him between her legs crossing her feet between them as the body arches under him and moves with him in a rhythm that gradually begins to increase. Hands come off the back of his head and descend along his back, leaving a red trail with her fingernails to grab him by the buttocks. The pace increases, the breaths are more and more breathless, Sherlock grasps her hip with one hand while the other is around her head and when he hears Irene scream his name at the moment of orgasm, he can no longer resist and explodes in her, moaning and whispering her name.

When the moans come to an end, only their breathless breaths can be heard in the room. Sherlock, with his face still hidden in her neck, moves to the side to allow her to breathe, but feels the body so exhausted that cannot do anything else.

Irene turns on her side, bringing her leg over his body and gently caresses his arm, which he holds around her body, as she tries to catch her breath.  
"I hope you have the pantry and the fridge full... I have not had the opportunity to check before" she finally says, moving her face to look at him.  
"Was not Angelo's baked pasta enough?" He asks with a smile.  
"Yes... but enough for tonight... I predict it will be three weeks very intense..." she replies with that mischievous and captivating smile.

Sherlock looks at her, feels his heart speed up again, but this time he does not wonder or ask himself the reason for his reactions. It's just that, he does not have to know anything else, he does not need to know anything else, the only thing he needs now is to hide his face in her neck, kiss the soft and sensitive skin of that spot, suck her scent and breathe deeply, savoring a peace of mind and body that he had never experienced.

And now he knows with certainty that he will not be able to do without it.


End file.
